


she left her name on my lips

by strangesmallbard



Series: Femslash February 2021 [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Early Mornings, Early in Canon, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: Cassandra, though. Cassandra sitting at the table in but a light tunic, her braid unwound from her head. The Seeker, the Right Hand of the Divine, the Hero of Orlais. Picking at the skin around her fingernails and munching on an apple."My lady!" Josephine warbles, like she is the Game's foundling instead of a seasoned player. "Good morning. I did not expect to see you. It is very good, to see you."
Relationships: Josephine Montilyet/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Femslash February 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146647
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	she left her name on my lips

**Author's Note:**

> This roughly takes place between when the Inquisition arrives at Skyhold and either Adamant/Wicked Hearts and Wicked Eyes.

Ever since she was a girl, Josephine has enjoyed waking up to a rising sun and a cup of steaming coffee. Her mother would wake her up, just so. _Every ray of light is a gift, Josie. Hand-wrapped by the Maker Himself._ Skyhold is so dreadfully cold in the morning that any warmth at all becomes a gift. The Inquisitor might say it is Sylaise the Hearthkeeper whom melts the frost from the stones each afternoon. Josephine has taken to thanking her as well as the Maker before throwing back the covers—out of respect for their leader and, perhaps, in the hope that the chill will not rattle all of her bones.

Back at Haven, the kitchens were just behind her office. She would often find Minaeve there already, sipping black tea and using the dregs for an experiment that set Josephine's teeth on edge. Oh, she still engaged in small talk! Minaeve was pleasant underneath all that perfectly understandable hesitance and ire. It was good to not be alone.

At Skyhold, however, the kitchens are well out of her way. Josephine could ask a servant to bring her coffee each morning with the daily missives, but it seems a frivolous task. She is capable of winding her way up to the kitchens and heating up coals herself. Moreover, she ought to savor the precious hour entirely to herself. Those are rare to come by without intricate social maneuvering.

It doesn't mean she likes it. Or turns down company when it is offered—even Sera, sneaking potatoes out of the stores for Maker knows what, is better than an empty, dark kitchen. Solas and Blackwall will even share her coffee, although only the latter is a decent conversationalist. The Inquisitor avoids the kitchens entirely, for reasons Josephine hopes to one day glean.

Cassandra, though. Cassandra sitting at the table in but a light tunic, her braid unwound from her head. The Seeker, the Right Hand of the Divine, the Hero of Orlais. Picking at the skin around her fingernails and munching on an apple.

"My lady!" Josephine warbles, like she is the Game's foundling instead of a seasoned player. "Good morning. I did not expect to see you. It is very good, to see you."

"Ambassador," Cassandra says. She jerks her head down, then up. It is perhaps a nod. "Good....morning to you. As well."

Josephine releases the door and pats down her skirts. She puts on her most gracious smile, wills the war drum in her heart to quiet, quiet. Prior to meeting Cassandra, she thought the woman a dashing figure—a romance serial come to life. In fact, there _were_ romance serials about Cassandra. Josephine once had a _tapestry_ of her! Luckily, her initial nerves were eventually tempered by Cassandra's...temper. Or, no. she is never truly angry without reason. It is her perpetual scowl that pokes and prods at the diplomat in Josephine's heart.

This, though. Cassandra in the morning. Blush rising to her face as she stares.

There must be a word for it. If not in Common, then in Antivan. It is on the tip of her tongue.

"A lovely morning, to be sure." She spots the wooden box marked with her initials. "Would you like a cup of coffee? I have heard from soldiers that it can aid one's training, when portioned correctly."

Cassandra blinks, halfway to another bite of apple. She fidgets with her elbow, then stills her hands entirely. "That is...I know that—importing to the Frostback Mountains can be...." She makes a small noise of frustration. "No. But thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Hmm," Cassandra says, and nothing else. She returns to her apple as though Josephine already left the room. The warm drums still, replaced by the quiet sting of rejection. Knowing so keenly when one's presence is unwanted can be a terrible curse.

No matter. She can also pretend.

In the minutes that pass, the only sounds from the kitchen are Josephine heating up coals, pouring coffee, a knife on a cutting board when she decides to have a slice of nut bread. Having finished her apple, Cassandra opens a book and begins to write. Her brows enter a series of fascinating configurations—hard to ignore in a room with so few captivating attributes.

When her coffee is ready, filling the space with its distinct aroma, she begins to take her leave.

This is when Cassandra surprises Josephine, again.

"My fellow Seekers used to tell me I was an unholy terror in the morning. I am inclined to believe them." She clears her throat, folds her hands over her the spine of her book. Her blush is more prominent than before, a splotch across her proud cheekbones. "I apologize for my...disrespect. I do appreciate the offer, Ambassador. It smells magnificent."

Warmth encircles her whole body, like a healer's magic. It does not entirely come from the metal cup nestled in her palms. "Thank you. But I do not think you match the will of an Unholy Terror, if the Inquisitor's reports are to be trusted."

"Of course her reports are..." Cassandra sighs. "I see your point."

"Not that your will is not strong," Josephine blurts before she can stop herself. "I simply do not think comparing yourself to a demon is a healthy practice."

A smiles begins to curve at Cassandra's lips, tugging at that scowl. For a moment, Josephine wants to use every skill she has ever cultivated to bring that smile out more. Coax it out as though it were a frightened nug caught in a cellar. Maker's Breath, what thoughts. "Perhaps not."

"Perhaps," Josephine says. She chastises her expression into cooperating. "In any case, I accept your apology and I shall leave you to your work. Take care, Lady Seeker."

"Cassandra is fine." She clears her throat once more. "I have never cared much for titles."

She has very nice hands, Josephine realizes. Still curled together, she can see they are notably long and slender, calloused in all the places one would expect. There's a scar on the back of her hand too, a blunt pale circle sitting like a constellation point between two knuckles. All of this is very interesting, and is not distracting the war drum from starting up at Cassandra's insinuation that her presence might indeed be wanted after all. "In that case, please call me Josephine. It is only fair." She feels her traitorous smile give some cheek. "And _just."_

Cassandra rolls her eyes, but is otherwise unperturbed. Josephine ought to not feel this is a fond gesture. "Josephine." Her accent caresses the syllables so tenderly. _Maker's Breath._ "You take care as well. I will see you in the War Room later today."

"Of course," Josephine says. "Take care." Shit. "Ah, we've both said that already."

Cassandra gives another suggestion of a smile. "Goodbye, Josephine."

Instead of responding, sure she will say something else very foolish, Josephine nods. A perfect dip of her head, slow and deliberate. She thinks of their exchange throughout the journey back to her offices, tosses and turns over each word to reveal secret meanings, hidden intentions. By the time she reaches her desk, she has drawn no conclusions. Cassandra's sudden friendliness—albeit, her own halting form of it—is just simply very welcome. She would like to repeat the exchange again, and again after that.

Moreover, she is warm. Before her first sip of coffee, before the afternoon. That is no small feat.

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by Onella! 
> 
> Title is from "Flirting With Her" by Sir Babygirl.


End file.
